


The Fume of Sighs

by ShowMeAHero



Series: Easy To Begin, But Hard To End [11]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Adorable, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic, F/M, General Adorable, Holidays, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Multi, Romance, Sexual Situations, Valentine's Day, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-15
Updated: 2013-02-15
Packaged: 2017-11-29 08:28:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/684897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowMeAHero/pseuds/ShowMeAHero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Les Amis' Valentine's Day plans and general goings-on, be it staying in, going out, or never even making it out of their rooms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fume of Sighs

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the Shakespeare quote "Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs."
> 
> This takes place during their senior year.  
> (February 14th, 2015)

_Eponine and Marius_

Eponine twiddled her thumbs together at the bar of the Musain, waiting until Musichetta came back over to her with a bottle of cheap beer.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Musichetta asked as she placed the bottle down in front of Eponine. The younger girl took a long pull from it before answering.

“This is my fifth Valentine’s Day being in love with Marius, and my twenty-second Valentine’s Day alone,” Eponine grumbled, her eyes on the bottle rather than on Musichetta. “It’s just a sucky day.”

“You can-” Musichetta began before her eyes skipped up from Eponine’s face just as the bell on the front door rang. “Well, speak of the Devil, and the Devil shall appear.”

Eponine turned around on her stool just in time to catch sight of Marius entering the cafe. His eyes were bright, his face flushed; there was a bright yellow scarf wrapped around his neck and a black coat buttoned snugly against his chest. Eponine’s own chest ached, and she turned back to Musichetta.

“Want me to distract him? Or you can hide under the bar,” Musichetta suggested, smiling warmly at Eponine, who looked like she would rather be anywhere else and seemed to be attempting to blend into the woodwork of the bar.

“‘Ponine!” Marius called. Eponine grimaced, and Musichetta patted her arm in sympathy before vanishing into the kitchen behind her. Eponine turned on her bar stool again in order to greet Marius, who just grabbed her by the hand before she could even speak. She found herself dragged over to a table in the corner where Marius promptly stripped off his winter wear and fell into the seat opposite the one Eponine had been thrust into. She still clutched her beer bottle tight in one hand.

“What’s got you all thrown into a tizzy today?” Eponine asked, sipping at her beer again as Marius ran a hand through his messy hair. It seemed slightly damp; the cold, cloudy weather outside must have shifted into snow at some point. A glance at a window behind her confirmed her suspicions.

“I just love Valentine’s Day,” Marius sighed, and Eponine raised an eyebrow.

“You say that like we don’t all already know what a hopeless romantic you are,” Eponine said. Marius rolled his eyes at her, but the effect was ruined by his beaming grin.

“I wanted to say happy Valentine’s Day to you, and Courf told me you were here,” Marius continued as though Eponine had not spoken. Eponine put her bottle down quietly.

“What about Cosette?” Eponine asked cautiously. Marius waved his hand at her.

“I’ll see her later. I wanted to see you now. You’re one of my best friends, one of my oldest friends... I love you, you know,” Marius reached out and placed his hand on top of hers on the table. “Valentine’s Day is for celebrating the people you love.”

Eponine swallowed and looked down at their hands laying together. “I love you, too.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Marius teased. Eponine nodded, still directing her attention towards their hands. “Come help me get ready for my date?”

“Sure thing,” Eponine agreed without hesitation, draining the last of her beer and standing. Marius haphazardly tugged his scarf and coat on; Eponine crossed over to him, adjusting his crooked scarf. Marius smiled down at her.

“Thanks, ‘Ponine,” Marius said, and Eponine just smiled at him.

This wasn’t the _worst_ Valentine’s Day.

* * *

_Jehan and Courfeyrac_

“Are you still writing?” Courfeyrac asked, leaning in the doorway of Jehan’s room, his arms crossed. The poet in question did not even look up; he just continued scribbling furiously in his little red notebook. “Do you still want to go out tonight?”

This question made Jehan put his pen down. He looked up at Courfeyrac in the doorway and leaned back slightly in his desk chair. “Of course I do. Just let me wrap this up, okay?”

“Gotcha,” Courfeyrac said, finally moving from the doorway, only to flop onto Jehan’s bed. He reached under the pillows and pulled out one of the books of poetry that he knew was hidden there. Jehan returned to his scribbling, his pen scratching at the paper. After an extended moment of quiet, Jehan threw his pen down and frowned at his paper. Courfeyrac looked up at him, his neck straining as he was starfished on his back on the bed; thanks to his distraction, the book of poetry fell onto his face. Jehan burst out laughing. He beckoned Courfeyrac over with one ink-stained hand.

Courfeyrac stood and came to him, grumbling at Jehan but coming to him all the same. Jehan grabbed his wrist as soon as he came over, picked up a red Sharpie from his cluttered desk, and began writing on Courfeyrac’s arm at an angle. The words spun around his arm in titled spirals, and Jehan sat back once he ran out of room, examining his handiwork. Courfeyrac twisted his head in order to read the words.

“This is... beautiful.” Courfeyrac cleared his throat. “Very well-written. You’re talented.”

“I know,” Jehan said softly. He released Courfeyrac’s hand, only to have the taller man lean down and kiss the poet. Courfeyrac braced his hands against the arms of the chair and deepened their kiss; Jehan seemed to frown into the kiss at this, dragging his face away. Courfeyrac frowned at him in return until he stood and pushed Courfeyrac into the chair himself. Jehan climbed onto him, straddling him on the desk chair. He tangled his hands in Courfeyrac’s hair, using that and Courfeyrac’s hands scrabbling against his back to steady himself.

“I love it,” Courfeyrac mumbled into Jehan’s mouth. Jehan moved his head down to kiss down Courfeyrac’s neck.

“I love you,” Jehan whispered back, his breath hot against Courfeyrac’s neck. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Ditto.”

* * *

_Marius and Cosette_

Marius could not take his eyes off of Cosette. She was always beautiful, but something was different tonight, something that he could not quite place. He rubbed his hands against his pants, seemingly trying to scrub off his excess nervousness and energy. Cosette did not seem to notice how anxious he was; if she did, she did not mention it.

They were sitting on the roof of his building on a sofa that he, Grantaire, Courfeyrac, and Combeferre had dragged up there the day before. Cosette had a blanket tucked tightly around her to ward off the chill, and he had his coat on. She pulled her legs up under herself and tucked her head into Marius’ chest; he wrapped his arm around her and kissed the top of her head. She tipped her head back so that she could look up at the sky.

“From here, it’s almost like there’s no city. It’s like we’re out in the country.” Cosette whispered, looking up at the stars. Marius leaned his head back for a moment, but he could not keep his eyes off Cosette for long. She was in her pajamas, even if they were not visible underneath the thick blanket, and he had never loved her more.

“Marry me,” Marius blurted out. Cosette stilled against him before sitting back to look at him.

“What?” Cosette asked softly, even though they both knew exactly what he said. Marius adjusted his position and briefly debated taking it back, but just looking at her made that an impossible course of action.

“Marry me. I have a ring downstairs, I wasn’t going to do it like this, but I don’t think I can wait anymore.” Marius took her face in his hands. She stared at him with impossibly wide eyes. “Cosette. Marry me.”

Cosette inhaled slowly before leaning in to kiss Marius. He kissed her back instinctually for a moment before pulling back.

“Is that a yes?” Marius asked cautiously. Cosette smiled gently at him.

“That is a yes,” Cosette assured him, leaning back in for another kiss.

* * *

_Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta_

“You are the most beautiful,” Bossuet announced when Musichetta finally came upstairs after closing down the cafe with Joly, who frowned at Bossuet as he came in after her.

“I’m wounded,” Joly claimed, clutching at his chest. Bossuet rolled his eyes, forced himself off of the sofa, and leaned over to kiss Joly.

“You are the most handsome,” Bossuet assured him. Joly beamed at him before moving away to scrub his hands clean in the kitchen sink. Musichetta shut the front door of their flat and let Bossuet pull her into a hug.

“What do you want to do tonight?” Bossuet asked, kissing the top of her head. Musichetta leaned her head back, her dark waves of hair falling downwards and tickling Bossuet’s hands on her back. He bent his head down and kissed her happily.

“Let’s stay in,” Musichetta suggested against his lips. He nodded and lifted his head up.

“We’re staying in, Joly!” Bossuet called in the direction of their shared kitchen. 

“I’ll start dinner, pick a movie!” Joly shouted back. There was a moment of hesitation. “Don’t let Musichetta pick the movie!”

“You pick _Spider-Man 3_ once, and nobody lets you forget it,” Musichetta grumbled. Bossuet grinned at her and moved away to dig through the stack of DVDs piled next to the TV.

“We like to maintain the illusion that _Spider-Man 3_ never happened,” Joly reminded her, coming in the room with two boxes of leftover Chinese takeout and a bowl of grapes.

“I thought you said you were making dinner?” Musichetta asked curiously, taking the boxes from him; she placed the one for Bossuet on the low coffee table in front of the sofa, and kept the other for herself. She climbed onto the sofa, passed her box back to Joly, and shed her apron and tight pants. She threw the clothes over the back of the sofa and accepted the box back. Joly sat down next to her, picking through his bowl of grapes for the healthiest ones in the bunch.

Bossuet finally stuck a DVD in the player and returned to the sofa. He graciously accepted his box from the coffee table and began shoveling the rice into his mouth.

“You’re going to make yourself sick,” Joly scolded. Bossuet stuck his tongue out at him, and Joly grimaced.

“What movie is this?” Musichetta asked over them, waving her fork in the general direction of the movie.

“ _Serenity_ ,” Bossuet answered. Joly laughed and reached over Musichetta to high-five Bossuet, who did so merrily.

“Happy Valentine’s Day to us,” Joly laughed. Musichetta snuggled into them and could not help but agree.

* * *

_Combeferre, Feuilly, and Bahorel_

“We should go out!” Bahorel declared for the fourth time that night. Feuilly barely looked up from the fan he was folding on the floor.

“You keep saying that, but you’re still sitting there in your underwear and eating gummy worms,” Combeferre pointed out from beside him on the sofa. He grinned widely when Bahorel shrugged and shoved another gummy worm into his mouth.

“We should call Enjolras,” Bahorel suggested. Feuilly raised an eyebrow, though his eyes remained on his flag.

“If you want to suffer his wrath, be my guest,” Feuilly muttered. Bahorel sank back against the sofa.

“Wet blanket,” Bahorel grumbled. Feuilly smiled. “We shouldn’t be alone! It’s Valentine’s Day!”

“We’re going out later tonight, remember? It’s only one o’clock in the afternoon,” Combeferre reminded him. “I’m sure we’ll find some nice girls, have a nice night.”

“Valentine’s Day is prime time, my friend,” Feuilly said slyly, completing the last fold on his fan. Bahorel reached over him and snatched it from his hands.

“If it’s one in the afternoon,” Bahorel began, as though Feuilly had never spoken, “then why am I tired?”

“Because you just woke up half an hour ago after what must have been a particularly fun night, judging by the spectacular dance performance and subsequent projectile vomiting in the alley behind the building last night when you got home,” Combeferre laughed. Bahorel shrugged.

“It _was_ an exceptionally fun night, I can assure you.” Bahorel let Feuilly take his flag back so that he could use his hand to continue eating his gummy worms. “We should go out.”

Bahorel barely got the words out before Feuilly and Combeferre were both attacking him.

* * *

_Enjolras and Grantaire_

“I think we missed our reservation,” Grantaire murmured against Enjolras’ flushed, warm chest. Enjolras smiled slightly.

“Maybe. I think it was an hour ago,” Enjolras agreed. Grantaire rolled over so that he was laying next to Enjolras, rather than on top of him. Grantaire edged upwards towards Enjolras’ outspread arm so that he could rest his head there at the junction of his arm and his shoulder. Enjolras bent his arm slightly to play with Grantaire’s curly, sweat-matted hair.

“For a man made of marble, you’re always surprisingly warm,” Grantaire said after a little while. Enjolras raised an eyebrow but did not move, choosing to remain on his back with his head buried in the pillow.

“I am not made of marble,” Enjolras argued, a rehash of a discussion they are constantly having. Grantaire snorted.

“You’re made of marble as much as I’m made of coffee,” Grantaire countered. Enjolras tried not to smile.

“That’s quite a bit,” Enjolras settled for saying instead. Grantaire shrugged and yawned.

“Well, you’re quite marble-y.” Grantaire paused for a moment. “That’s not a word.”

“No, you’re right, it’s not,” Enjolras agreed. They were silent for a long moment. “I still have homework.”

“You’re not getting out of this bed,” Grantaire answered immediately. Enjolras rolled his eyes.

“I’m just saying,” Enjolras defended. Grantaire pinched his hip and turned onto his side, throwing one leg over Enjolras’ legs and pressing his face into Enjolras’ neck. Enjolras shifted so that he could reach the blanket, and he pulled it up over them both.

“We’re going to be disgusting in the morning,” Grantaire mumbled; his voice was tired. Enjolras began running his hand over Grantaire’s back in small circles, the action almost completely subconscious.

“That’s what showers are for,” Enjolras reminded him needlessly, answering the statement despite its rhetorical nature; he honestly just wanted Grantaire to sleep, he hadn't in days. Grantaire just hummed into his skin and yawned again.

“Love you. Happy Valentine’s,” Grantaire said quietly, shutting his eyes and pressing closer. Enjolras nodded once and yawned silently. “I had a gift for you. Wasn’t a drawing for once.”

“Oh?” Enjolras asked, mostly humoring him; Grantaire was obviously close to being asleep.

“Yeah.” Enjolras could feel Grantaire smile against his throat. “It’s a painting.”

“Color me surprised,” Enjolras murmured. Grantaire smacked at him ineffectually.

“No need to be rude. I think it came out well,” Grantaire mumbled at him. Enjolras kissed the top of his head.

“They always do,” Enjolras assured him. Grantaire just hummed again and finally fell asleep. Enjolras looked over at his desk where his textbooks and his plans for the next debate and the next protest lay for a brief moment before shutting his eyes and settling in for the night.

**Author's Note:**

> I am so stressed out, and I have been trying to write this for days. I finally just banged it out as fast as I could. If there are mistakes- well, you know the drill by now. I edit as we go.
> 
> Happy Valentine's Day!
> 
> You can follow me on Twitter at [@nicoIodeon](https://twitter.com/nicoIodeon) or on Tumblr at [andillwriteyouatragedy](http://andillwriteyouatragedy.tumblr.com/).


End file.
